


Doubt truth to be a liar

by pterawaters



Series: Beaconia [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Collars, Dirty Talk, Exhibitionism, F/M, King Derek Hale, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Polyamory, Public Sex, Seduction, Spies & Secret Agents, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-05
Updated: 2014-02-05
Packaged: 2018-01-11 08:05:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1170680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pterawaters/pseuds/pterawaters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The point of having sex with Stiles in the middle of King Derek's garden party is to have all eyes on her (preferably Derek's because she and Stiles both love teasing him), but Lydia notices one set of eyes in particular. Lord Peter is up to something, and Lydia knows exactly how to find out what those plans are.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Doubt truth to be a liar

Stiles has Lydia spread out on a blanket draped over one of the garden benches, her red hair falling in a cascade over the end. He fucks her slowly, with even strokes, pressing his cock into her at just the right angle. He switches which hand he leans his weight on, making sure he doesn't trap Lydia's hair against the bench and cause her pain.

There's no way to be unaware of the eyes watching them. It's a fete celebrating midsummer and the garden teems with nobles. Stiles sees King Derek out of the corner of his eye, gaze unfailingly on them, even though he's speaking to Lady Reyes. The Lady has two slaves at her feet, both male, one fair and one dark. She pets the dark one's hair as she speaks and he looks up at her with this fondness that Stiles doesn't understand.

He enjoys _playing_ at being a slave, enjoys the way his collar bites around his neck when Derek pulls on it, but Stiles doesn't understand how anyone can cope with _being_ a slave. If Stiles wants to, he can leave and Derek won't come looking for him. No one will confiscate him and auction him off to the highest bidder should Derek pass away. So how do those slaves look at their master with such _love_ in their eyes?

"Keep going," Lydia hisses, slapping his shoulder and startling Stiles back into the job at hand. He gives a particularly sharp thrust and she moans. A few yards away, Lord Peter licks his lips. 

Stiles dips down and kisses Lydia's neck, whispering to her, "Peter's watching us again."

"When is he not?" Lydia presses her heels into the backs of Stiles' thighs and runs a hand up his arm. "He wants us."

"He wants _you_ ," Stiles corrects, switching arms again. His strength is pretty good, but he's not sure how much longer he can maintain this position. "We can use that." Stiles kisses Lydia's neck again and speeds up his pace, gasping a little at the extra sensation.

Lydia takes a sharp breath as well, her fingertips going white as she grasps the bench beside her head. "Derek won't be happy at the suggestion."

"Better to ask forgiveness?" Stiles punctuates his point with another hard thrust followed by a barrage of fast, but shallow ones. 

Lydia shakes and keens, clenching around Stiles with a gasp. If they were alone, Stiles would stay buried inside Lydia until she told him she was ready to keep going, and then come satisfyingly deep inside her. However, they aren't alone and Stiles has to put on a show.

Pulling out, Stiles gets his hand around his cock, stroking fast and stealing a glance over at Derek. Derek's eyes are dark and hot, fixed on Stiles' hand, like he's picturing what it feels like to own that cock in Stiles' grip. Stiles comes on Lydia's stomach with a groan. A few of the onlookers around them clap politely.

When Stiles regains his sense of balance, he hands Lydia a cloth. She thanks him, her eyes tracking something over Stiles' shoulder. "I need you to distract Derek for me."

Heartbeat pounding quicker, Stiles asks, "What?" He turns to follower her line of sight and sees Lord Peter. "Now?"

Slipping her arms into her filmy, see-through robe which accentuates more than it covers up, Lydia replies, "Yes, now. I have to get to him while he's still stupid with arousal."

Thinking about the ways Lydia has manipulated him through the years, Stiles nods. "Nope, you're right. You're always right, and I should always listen to you."

Lydia pats Stiles' asscheek. "Good boy." 

Sweaty skin cooling now that he isn't moving as much, Stiles reaches for his own robe. It isn't quite as see-through as Lydia's, but it covers his shoulders, not his arms, and ends just below his ass. It's sexy enough to be worn by a real pleasure slave, and Stiles notices that Lady Erica's slaves are wearing similar robes.

Lydia slips past the corner of Stiles' vision and he tries not to follow her with his gaze, instead accepting the flirtatious remarks of the party-goers around him. He grins at them, winking at a few, as he makes his way over to Derek. When he reaches the king, Stiles drops to his knees. He leans against the warmth of Derek's legs and smiles when Derek puts a hand on his hair, even though it's a little damp with sweat.

Distraction. Stiles is supposed to go for distraction. Stiles looks up and watches as Derek listens to Lady Erica speak. "...best thing for our families. It's not like you'll be getting an heir out of your _wife_."

Shit. Stiles doesn't like the look Derek's face gets whenever anyone mentions the Princess Consort. Even though Derek does a good job of hiding it, Stiles can see the hatred, pain, and disgust in the flick of Derek's eyebrows and mouth. Distraction is definitely in order.

As Derek replies, "That doesn't mean my sisters' heirs are out of question," Stiles rubs his cheek against the hose on Derek's outer thigh. Turning more toward Derek, Stiles takes a deep breath through his nose. Several scents obscure Derek's musk, but it's still there, making Stiles' mouth water and his cock twitch against the fabric of his robe. Derek's fingers dig into Stiles' scalp.

"With slaves like this," Lady Erica says, "it's no wonder you're in no hurry to replace your wife."

Stiles noses closer to Derek's crotch, making Derek's voice catch in his throat as he says, "I-I can't replace my wife while she still lives. I took a vow."

Laughing, Erica replies, "I bet the Princess didn't consider her vows before slaughtering the Queen."

Stiles backs off, pressing his cheek to Derek's outer leg and letting Derek's fingers clench at his hair. The subject of his mother's death has always been a touchy one for the King, and the turmoil surrounding the late Queen's death is a big part of the reason Derek hired Stiles.

Derek snaps, "And the rest of her hunting party." Stiles has noted how much Derek hates it when the deaths of several of his siblings and cousins are lost in the tragedy of the Queen's death.

Lady Erica has the decency to blush and look downward. "I'm sorry, Your Highness. I did not intend to make light of your losses."

Derek presses his lips together and loosens his grip on Stiles' hair, petting him softly instead. "Apology accepted, Lady Erica. Thank you. If you would excuse me."

Derek grasps Stiles' collar with one finger, guiding Stiles to stand, which he does readily. As they leave the party, two of Derek's bodyguards flanking them, Derek lets go of the collar, letting Stiles follow on his own. Stiles thinks at this point, he would probably follow Derek anywhere, and not just because of the handsome piles of money accruing under Stiles' name in the treasury.

Derek leads the way to a quiet corner of the garden and tells his guards, "Here." They poke around for a few seconds, looking for threats, and then back off to just beyond one of the hedges. They're within easy hearing, but out of sight, which makes it easy to forget about them soon enough.

Derek doesn't say anything, but he lets Stiles put his arms around Derek's shoulders. Derek's hands clasp at the small of Stiles' back and he leans his forehead on Stiles' shoulder. "I should be stronger than this. I need to get back in there."

"Take a minute," Stiles insists, tightening his grip. "I'll walk back in with a limp and a satisfied smile. It'll be fine."

A sharp breath escapes Derek's nose, as good a laugh as Stiles has ever really gotten from the King.

"And after the party? I'll hold you down and I'll fuck you so slow, you forget everything except my name."

Derek shudders and Stiles grins against his cheek.

"I'll even let you wear my collar if you want."

Letting out another sharp almost-laugh, Derek's hands travel downward, his fingertips finding skin and brushing along the crease between Stiles' legs and his ass. 

Putting on a louder voice, Stiles groans, "Oh! Oh, Your _Majesty_!" He can't help the way his cock, still sensitive from a few minutes ago, rises. Stiles ruts against Derek, wincing at the rough beading on Derek's doublet. "God, you should be naked all the time. Forever."

"I'd get cold." Derek nips at Stiles' jaw, his beard rough against Stiles' skin. Stiles had tried to grow a beard once. It was so patchy he looked like he had mange.

"I'd keep you warm." Stiles kisses Derek, hard and deep and wanting, and tries not to feel bad about distracting him from whatever Lydia's doing. That's the nice thing about Stiles' chosen profession – he's really good at not feeling bad.

~*~

Lydia keeps her head high as she walks through the party, noticing which eyes land on her and which do not. She doesn't allow them to see her noticing, but to be honest, it's not that difficult. No one looks a pleasure slave in the face. No one cares to. If they did, they'd have to identify with her, imagine what it would be like to be in her collar. 

She actually likes her collar. Lydia convinced Derek to buy her one made of the softest calfskin and had her own blacksmith install the sham lock and the loop for a lead. It feels nice against her skin with just enough pressure to make her notice it when she swallows, but not so much that it feels like she can't breathe. 

It gives Lydia a secret thrill to imagine what the people around her must be thinking. Most of them want to get their hands on her, she's sure, but what of the others? Do they picture Derek hauling her around on a leash, tying her down and using her roughly until she cries? Lydia smiles. Oh, how wrong they are. 

Should Lydia feel shame for the thrill she feels being able to hold down the most powerful man in the country and have her whimper for him? Maybe, maybe not. It won't stop her either way.

Peter stands at one of the refreshment tables, quietly surveying the crowd, when Lydia catches up to him. "My Lord," she says softly as she reaches across him for one of the glasses of wine set out there. 

Curling his lip at her, Peter grasps Lydia's wrist, squeezing it tightly. She freezes, fingers inches from the glass she'd been aiming for. "Shouldn't you be on your knees somewhere?"

"A horse cannot run if you do not feed it," she replies, daring to look Peter square in the eye.

Peter's eyes widen, but he smiles and lets go of Lydia's wrist. "Manners dictate, however, that we do not feed horses at the dinner table."

Lydia dares a glass of wine again and this time, Peter doesn't stop her. "We're outside, my Lord. Mother Nature feeds all creatures."

"God feeds all," Peter corrects her, taking up his own glass and holding it out toward Lydia. She touches her glass to his in a wordless toast. "Mother Nature is a cruel temptress."

"Is that what I am to you, my Lord?" Lydia asks, licking the wine from her lips. Peter's eyes follow her tongue and Lydia preens mentally. "A temptress? A wild, mindless thing?"

Peter steps closer to Lydia running one finger down the center of her chest. "Only an idiot would think you mindless." He brushes the backs of his fingers against the lower swell of Lydia's breast before spreading his palm against her ribs. Lydia supresses a shudder and wonders what it would take to put this man, arguably the second most powerful man in the kingdom, under her heel. He looks like he probably needs it.

"You are not an idiot, are you, my Lord?" Lydia smiles serenely and tilts her head, her gaze steady on Peter's face as he watches his hand trace down toward her hip.

Peter then turns, his hand steady on Lydia as he steps behind her, his back to the refreshment table, both of them looking out at the rest of the party. Hand skimming over the swell of Lydia's buttock, Peter says, "The king has grown fond of you, I think."

Lydia keeps her face steady and calm as Peter's fingers brush between her legs. "I think you misread the situation. He likes the boy more."

"That doesn't surprise me," Peter whispers in Lydia's ear. "After what Derek's wife did, I'm surprised he can touch a woman at all." Peter's fingers slip along Lydia's flesh and almost into her, dancing in the moisture Stiles inspired with his touch. "Even a woman as exquisite as you."

"My Lord," Lydia sighs, putting a deliberate hitch in her breath. While Peter's fingers aren't clumsy – in fact, they're objectively skilled – she doesn't find the man attached to them attractive. 

While it's true Peter's form is nicely made and his features are symmetrical, and even handsome, the Hale looks do little to make up for the darkness Lydia sees in his eyes. Were Lydia any less experienced or any less skilled, she might have had a hard time faking the attraction. As the situation stands, Lydia makes her heart quicken, makes her pussy wet by picturing Derek's face when he begs her to touch him.

"Does the king know you let other men touch you?" Peter's fingers slip out of her and forward, pressing gently at her clit.

Lydia feigns a gasp, shaking her head. "He has no idea."

"He thinks two cocks are enough for you." Peter's fingers slip back into her, blunt and intrusive and nowhere near perfect, like Stiles' fingers.

"It's never enough." Lydia groans softly, turning her head away from the party and hides her face behind her wine glass. "My Lord, it's _never_ enough."

"You'd do this even if you hadn't been sold into it, wouldn't you?" Fingers slipping out again, Peter nudges harder at her clit. Lydia stumbles just enough to sell it, when in reality his advances make her more numb than anything else. "Harlot."

"My Lord, _please_ ," Lydia says, putting just the right amount of need into her voice. "It's been so long since–" Lydia gasps when Peter's fingers find their way into her again, thrusting upward. Lydia sneaks a glance at the party and doesn't notice anyone watching them. Part of her wishes they were.

"Since what?" Peter asks, withdrawing his fingers, brushing the wetness on them along the undercurve of her ass and against her thigh. He steps away, taking Lydia's elbow and coming around to look her in the eyes. "Since what, girl?"

Lydia wonders if Peter ever cared to know her name. "Since I had a master who–who _knew_ how to be with a woman."

When Peter's eyes go wide and dark, Lydia knows she's chosen the right words. Peter likes proficiency and Lydia's fairly certain he thinks he's better than Derek in every conceivable way. What actions this belief will lead him to are still unclear, though Lydia would bet a fortune that he's after the throne.

Smirking, Peter slips his fingers into his mouth, sucking and then licking at them shortly before letting his hand drop. He puts his hand on the back of Lydia's collar and pulls at it, tightening the leather around her throat. "You will come to my quarters. You will not be seen. Derek will not know you were gone. Do you understand me?"

Choking against the breath she tries to take, Lydia nods.

Peter lets her go, gently chuffs his knuckles under her chin, and leaves. Lydia vows to conceal a weapon on her person when she next meets up with Peter. He seems like the kind of man who wouldn't mind doing a lover permanent damage, and Lydia has been with enough of those men in her life. She doesn't need to leave herself vulnerable to another, not when she can finally help it.

**Author's Note:**

> You can visit me [on tumblr](http://pterawaters.tumblr.com/).


End file.
